


a radiant darkness upon us

by concernedlily



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alucard gets a hug, Multi, PWP, Post-Season/Series 03, content warnings in notes, first time threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-22 20:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23533510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/pseuds/concernedlily
Summary: “Alucard was here?” she says, and the look in her eyes is some mix of knowing and wanting. Trevor bends down and picks up her books, checking the spines out of habit; they’re undamaged.He stares at the space Alucard was standing in and gives his cock a nice squeeze. “I think I’m going to fuck him,” he says apologetically.“We’re going to fuck him,” she says, smirking, and takes the books out of his hands, leaning forward to give him a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. “If you can convince him.”
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Comments: 20
Kudos: 316





	a radiant darkness upon us

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: reference to Alucard's canon assault at the end of season three; drunk sex.

“Oh, it’s you,” Alucard says, examining them unenthusiastically, the way Trevor looks at a mug of underbrewed beer he’s just been overcharged for in the shitty best tavern for twelve miles in any direction. “You’re here to kill me, I suppose?”

“No!” Sypha exclaims, meltingly, stretching out a hand towards him, although Trevor had watched her mouth tremble as they passed the staked-out bodies outside Dracula’s castle, just like old times. They shouldn’t have left Alucard here: they should have taken him or killed him, and if it hadn’t been for the shitshow in Lindenfeld Trevor would have addressed this bloody unsatisfactory situation before now. The massive black doors had made Alucard look small, once, as they did any human, but he looks horribly comfortable now. Sypha says, “Alucard. No. How could you -“

“Yeah, maybe,” Trevor says. 

Alucard’s mouth twists in a familiar way. “Well, have a drink first, at least.”

“Absolutely,” Trevor says. Sypha glares in his peripheral vision. He doesn’t look at her: the whip is coiled on the side of his pack, which means she’s the most available weapon and he knows better than to give that away. “You look like shit, by the way.”

“As charming a guest as ever, Belmont,” Alucard says as he turns to lead them into the castle, but his heart clearly isn’t in it. He does look like shit, by Alucard standards, which means he’s only the best-looking man Trevor’s ever seen by a factor of ten instead of a hundred. He looks tired. Trevor hopes he hasn’t taken to sleeping in that pissing coffin again. 

“ _Trevor_ ,” Sypha says through her teeth and Trevor shrugs at her. Say one thing for Dracula, his booze cabinet is unparalleled, and Trevor thinks helping drink through it is a patriotic act. Practically noble, in fact. 

“Alucard,” she says, more loudly, and catches his elbow, spinning him around and pointing at one of the bodies (a couple of months dead, if Trevor’s any judge, gruesome, extremely smelly). Alucard moves with her easily, fangs small between his parted lips. He’s not thinking of her as a threat yet. “Is that what your mother would have wanted?”

Bit early to play the dear old mum card, Trevor thinks, but hey-ho. He makes an exaggeratedly disapproving face but Alucard isn’t looking, focused on the corpses, blond hair falling veil-like over his cheeks. 

“I wouldn’t imagine so, no,” he says. He turns again, more insistently. He’s making every inch of height count, at his most straight-postured and haughty. “But then I don’t expect she’d have liked me being tied up and stabbed in my own bed either, so here we are.”

“Alucard,” Sypha says again, shocked, gentle. He doesn’t look at her, striding back into the castle like he doesn’t care if they follow him or not. He’s back in his pale silks, billowing low and loose around his chest and hips, and there’s something soft and unhappy in the line of his shoulders as he gives Trevor his unprotected back. Trevor can picture it, almost. Alucard in his bed, where he should have been safe, lean and pale and nude on expensive sheets. He’s thought about that before, but only fleetingly; it felt like fantasising about wanking on an iceberg, beautiful and glittering and apt to freeze your dick off. 

Even more impossible imagining… well, experimenting. They’d have had to tie him well, to be sure, wrists and elbows and ankles and thighs, bindings biting tight into his skin. He finds, though, he can’t quite picture what Alucard would be like in bed. Whether he’d be supercilious, or demanding, or sweet, whether he’d be in himself with the reserve he has for others or whether he’d bring out the vicious sarcasm he seems to save for Trevor, or whether - whether he likes to watch, whether the dead couple had kissed for him, or just kissed him, how they’d used him between them, how the two of them had -

He jumps as Sypha draws her hands together in a fleeting complicated gesture, a witchlight bursting into life above her fingertips. 

“Was it the bodies that drew you back?” Alucard says eventually, when they’ve been walking bloody ages and still no nearer anything that might conceivably include alcohol and a comfortable chair. The long, high corridors are twilight-dark, the shadows cast by Sypha’s candleflame more creeping than pitch black would have been, the space looming both with the specific uncomfortable silence of conversations not being opened and the general quiet of a cathedral-sized building almost entirely unoccupied. It’s obvious Alucard’s not holding war councils or making night creatures or capturing humans; he’s not taken to killing people and staking them up outside as a hobby. He’s just rattling around the place on his own, still and silent. 

“Oh, sorry, did you think you’d made yourself popular with your new neighbours?” Trevor says. Although as far as he knows, the nearby village has given up caring about fucking Dracula’s castle in the forest nearby, since it hasn’t done anything interesting for a while; they’re worried about bog-standard night creatures instead, but where isn’t these days?

Alucard rouses enough to send a snapping-eyed look over his shoulder. 

“We need the Hold,” Sypha says. She reaches for Trevor, the backs of their hands brushing briefly, warm and comforting. “If we may.”

Alucard shrugs. He glances over his shoulder at Trevor again, more thoughtful. “As you wish. It’s yours, after all.”

“We need to look up the Infinite Corridor,” Trevor says, loudly. “It’s a corridor and it’s _infinite_. It goes to _hell_. Your father’s looking well, by the way.”

Alucard stiffens but then finally, finally, he opens a door and sweeps through it into a small sitting room. There’s a fire, roaring hot and crackling and warm-orange light, and Trevor makes a straight line for it with only a small noise of yearning. 

“All the more reason to drink, then,” Alucard says, already delving into a large cabinet with much clinking of crystal, the sharp scent of spirits splitting the air. Sypha is the first to sit down. 

***

He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for, but Sypha does. He leaves her to it and wanders the shelves of the Hold, touching occasionally when he comes across some half-remembered relic of an uncle or cousin. There’s no dust, even though the House of Belmont collection comes with its own, after so long underground. It looks cared for. 

It gives him an unpleasant feeling in the depths of his stomach. He sits down for a few minutes with his great-great-grandmother’s greatsword, polishing ancient bloodstains off it slowly - family pride and legend is one thing, but so is rust - and eventually he identifies it, reluctantly. He’s felt it before, wheeling away from this fucking shithouse empty castle, broken glass still on the floor of the kid’s bedroom where they’d killed Dracula.

He sticks the sword through the loops at the bottom of his pack, since beloved bitch Grandma Belmont isn’t using it anymore, and goes to find Sypha. She’s positively thrilled with life, reading through two books at once with one hand while the fingers of the other act as possessive placeholder in the thick pages of yet another, and he slides his palms over her hips and onto her stomach from behind, breathing in the scent of her hair until his chest stops hurting, leaving a slow kiss on the nape of her neck. 

“Trevor,” she says, too distracted to be really scolding. He bites at her neck a little and she says his name again, more sharply, then turns in his arms, the books forgotten as he presses her back against the shelves, her body willing under his hands as he opens her mouth with his, hot and heady. 

“What’s this?” she murmurs into his mouth when he lets her get a breath, amused and indulgent, and he sucks on her bottom lip for a moment before flicking his tongue inside to touch hers. Kissing her is never the same, always amazing, and he nuzzles at her cheek for a second, grateful for her in a way he never usually lets himself feel, more afraid of losing this than never having it at all.

“Can’t I just think you’re beautiful?” he says and she laughs against his mouth.

“You could, but you don’t generally,” she says, and then whatever she might have said next - whichever intentions she might have visited - are gone in her gasp as he pushes a thigh in and up, giving the heat of her between her legs a hard line of muscle to ride. She throws her head back, her scrabbling hands shoving the books accidentally to the floor before she gives up and sinks both hands into his hair, and he kisses down the long length of her bared throat and groans, feeling his cock get hard in his pants.

It’s the Belmont Hold and for all he’d only seen it the once growing up, he forgets it’s not his, that they’re not in his house, his family’s safe haven. He blinks his eyes open, his vision blurring, and sees a flash of long white-blond hair in the corner of his eye, swinging with quick movement, as if its owner is startled.

“Hey now,” he murmurs, and strokes down Sypha’s sides, luxuriating in how good she feels. Alucard’s gaze meets his, eyelash-fronded and pale, and when Alucard jerks Trevor smiles, licks his lips and presses his weight onto Sypha a little bit harder. Alucard swallows, steps forward and watches, brazen about it, and Trevor’s prick twitches heavily. “S’good. There you go, love.”

She pulls his head up to her and they kiss again, the messy deep kind of kiss Trevor likes best, like he’s wanted, desperately. Knowing Alucard is there, watching, makes it even better and he wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her hard and slow, feeling her teeth on his tongue and her hands gripping his arse hard and confident.

When he comes up for air again Alucard is gone. She’s still ready against him, almost trembling, but he can’t help falling back a bit, looking around like maybe the little bastard’s turned into a bat and is hanging around watching them.

“Alucard was here?” she says, and the look in her eyes is some mix of knowing and wanting. Trevor bends down and picks up her books, checking the spines out of habit; they’re undamaged.

He stares at the space Alucard was standing in and gives his cock a nice squeeze. “I think I’m going to fuck him,” he says apologetically. 

“ _We’re_ going to fuck him,” she says, smirking, and takes the books out of his hands, leaning forward to give him a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. “If _you_ can convince him.”

***

Trevor could try to convince him, sweet-talking and seducing and reminding Alucard that he’s put his life in their hands before. But on balance he thinks it’ll be easier if he just gets them both shitfaced and then tries to grab Alucard’s prick. 

It’s hard to get a dhampir drunk, but Trevor is a professional. And the beer, then the port, then a heavy hammered-metal bottle that might be brandy apart from the suspicious coppery whiff to it are all exceptional. And he’s motivated for once not by the desperate longing merely not to have to sleep under a tree, but by an aching dick.

“ _You’re_ an aching dick,” Alucard says at his most snappish when Trevor outlines his thinking. “Pass me that bottle. You’re a disgrace.”

“No, you’re a disgrace,” Trevor says petulantly. 

“No, you,” Alucard retorts. 

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck _you_.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Trevor shouts and starts laughing. 

“You’re _extremely_ trying,” Alucard says and then he’s laughing as well, really laughing, in a scraped tired-sounding sort of way. Trevor lifts his head up where he’s splayed on the sofa and sees that Alucard’s even looking surprised at himself as he laughs, like he thought he’d forgotten how. 

It’s an expression worth getting up for. Trevor swings his legs over his sofa, takes a couple of deep breaths, stands up, takes another deep breath, sits down again, stands up again, and shambles his spinning head and foggy limbs to the chaise Alucard is draped on with lethal elegance, even pissed as a fart. Alucard just looks up at him, and he’s not laughing anymore but when Trevor sits astride his slim hips his hands find Trevor’s knees and then up, up, up, pausing when he finds the hard length of Trevor’s dick trapped in his trousers and then carrying on. He’s cool under Trevor’s hands, pale and solid and unforgiving, but his lips are softer than Trevor expects when he leans forward and carefully tests the sharpness of one needlepoint fang on his thumb. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Alucard says, softly enough not to dislodge Trevor’s touch.

“Of course. I told you the whole plan,” Trevor says patiently. 

It’s half true. He doesn’t know much about kissing around fangs, and part of him distantly thinks about being the first and last Belmont to ever find out. Alucard is a good kisser, slow and easy, almost hesitant. Trevor only knows he wants it from the restless clench of his fingers on Trevor’s thighs, too hard, except Trevor’s been a fighter all his life and sensation fast and tough, like biting into scar tissue all the way down to find flesh, is the right side of too much for him.

“Sypha,” Alucard says, almost inaudibly. 

“She’ll be along in a minute, don’t worry,” Trevor says. He smiles against Alucard’s mouth, nips at him approvingly, feeling the way Alucard moves under him helplessly, the reaction to teeth on him far too much for the smallness of the touch. “You like that?” he says, low.

Alucard’s breath is heaving, shaking him under Trevor’s hands and he turns his head away. Trevor can feel Alucard’s cheek heating under his fingers, but there’s not enough blood for the flush to show on his pale skin. He’s ashamed. Trevor wonders if it’s him, or this, or everyone and every time: Alucard is so supremely controlled, it’s easy to forget his vampire side.

Trevor saw him kill Dracula, saw him cry over it afterwards. He’s not going to forget. 

“Oi,” he mumbles, flexes his hips and tightens his thighs so Alucard can feel he’s still hard as fuck, still wanting. He can’t offer for Alucard to bite him back. Not now, maybe not ever, that’s not something he can do, but there’s plenty more of Alucard to go around and he tugs Alucard’s lower lip down with his teeth, licks the pink swell of it and then the points of his fangs, careful, until Alucard laughs again under him, more of a chuckle this time, soft and maybe even fond.

“God, you’re demanding,” Alucard says. He flexes a bit under Trevor and Trevor thinks maybe he’s about to get tipped onto his back and pounded, even entertains the idea for about three whole seconds, but Alucard just stretches out under him, languorous and beautiful, his hips rubbing a very nice feeling erection up against Trevor’s arse like a side effect. 

“Good job, too,” Trevor says. “What do you do, just lie there?”

Alucard just smiles, almost self-satisfied, but he blinks slowly over honey eyes turned cold jasper, and Trevor thinks again about what he’d said happened to him, tied up and shown no mercy. Trevor shuffles back a bit, gets a hand on Alucard’s cock and leans down to kiss him again, nice and easy, letting Alucard set the pace. 

Alucard seems to like it sunrise steady, starting gentle and lazy, pushing it more intense gradually. It’s the opposite of how Trevor is usually; he likes it furious and fast and overwhelming. But Sypha’s teaching him to take his time, and he breathes into kissing Alucard and remembers what he’s learned about enjoying it like this, figuring out how Alucard’s feeling from the half-choked noises he makes, the tiny flutters of his eyelashes against Trevor’s cheeks when he leaves Alucard’s mouth to explore the pale smooth skin of his face, the hungry way his hips start to rock up into Trevor’s groping palm and get the pressure and closeness he needs. This warmth is good too, spreading from his groin and his fingers and his mouth, from everywhere they’re touching to just everywhere, until his whole body is on fire to fuck.

He kneels up and shuffles back a bit more and Alucard spreads his legs for him, instinctive; Trevor’s seen him fight, and he knows when Alucard is moving like muscle memory and when it’s pure blood and sinew. 

“Take your clothes off for me,” he says, and from the doorway Sypha says, low and lilting, “I’d like to see that too.”

Alucard’s eyes go big, like maybe he’d thought Trevor was joking, before; bit insulting, but he can see why Alucard would think Trevor might not know a good thing when he’s got it. He licks his lips slowly, like he’s tasting Trevor on them. He turns his head and stares at Sypha for a moment, something passing between them that makes her smile, and Trevor slides to the back of the chaise and sticks his hand in his pants to grip his cock as Alucard rolls up and to standing in one smooth motion.

Alucard strips his loose top over his head easy enough, unshowy about it. He clutches it to his chest after, almost modest, although it’s nothing they haven’t seen before, after as much as five whole seconds of acquaintance. If anything it’s even less than they’ve seen before, if Trevor takes into account how tight Alucard had worn his trousers in his floating vampire Jesus phase. 

There’s no marks on him that Trevor can see, or at least no new marks. Vlad Tepes is still the only one who’s been able to leave scars on his son, at least that others can see, because Trevor can see it, now, and it makes him feel quite cheerful about those two bastards on their stakes outside: the way Alucard’s gaze flicks between Trevor and Sypha, guarded, calculating; not how he could hurt them, but how he could stop them hurting him, if he had to. The way Trevor had once scanned every tavern for threats, sitting in a corner with his back to the wall, not wanting trouble, but more than happy to give it a bloody good kicking if it came for him first.

Sypha steps up to him and Alucard transfers his attention to her: his whole attention, like he feels safe with Trevor at least for this moment, and Trevor - feels something about that, maybe somewhere in his chest, definitely somewhere in his groin. “Alucard,” she says softly and Alucard drifts shut his eyes, lets her close her hands over his softly where he’s still creasing his shirt, lets her press in against him and raise onto her tiptoes and kiss him.

It’s only a very strong act of will that stops Trevor from coming on the spot, and he’s going to want credit for it from them, later. They’re beautiful together, exploring each other like it’s a dance instead of a fight, steady closed-mouth kisses: Trevor doesn’t know what Sypha’s waiting for until Alucard makes a noise, tiny and needy, and she sinks her clever magic-making hands into the silky fall of his hair and pulls him down to her. The next noise he makes is broken, muffled by her tongue, and Trevor shudders just watching as she breaks off, holds Alucard’s gaze as she moves down to kiss very deliberately at the very top of the red-raw scar that bisects his chest like his father had tried to carve out his heart, until he shakes, makes a sound that’s more like a sob, tipping his head back and pressing up to her helplessly.

She moves insistently, once he can’t see, and Trevor is up and moving in response to her hand signal in a way that is entirely led by his proud-pointing dick and barely at all by his feet. She splays her hand on Alucard’s tense stomach, just under where the scar finishes, and he doesn’t even think about being on his knees in front of Alucard until he’s there, pressing his mouth to where the scar ends, exploring the difference in texture between smooth skin and vicious scar with his lips and tongue and even teeth. Alucard whines a bit at that one, the muscles of his stomach flexing under Trevor’s mouth and God, this is what Trevor likes from his partners: for everything to be nice and easy, to be clear that he’s giving them pleasure and what he has to do to give even more of it, no games or guessing. 

He raises his face to Sypha readily when she pulls at his hair, happy to put both of them in her hands: fire on the surface and ice beneath to Alucard’s reverse. He just about sees Alucard watching them again before she kisses him, Alucard’s eyes wide and maybe a little bit scared. Then she’s straightening back up and kissing Alucard again, her taste on Trevor’s lips which taste of Alucard, and she’s undoing the loose drawstring of Alucard’s pants and pushing them down while she snogs him rotten, Trevor still on his knees, and it appears to be time for Trevor to suck vampire cock.

It’s not as hard as he would have thought - conceptually, that is, as Alucard’s cock is very hard indeed, and very nice, long and not too thick, a rosy dark pink at the head, and smooth and warm when Trevor slides his mouth over it. It’s just Alucard’s, unmistakably his voice losing all its disdain and refinement as he cries out, as stupid for his cock in someone’s mouth as any man: the hand that lands in Trevor’s hair is stroking, not forceful, and when he pulls a bit Trevor can feel that it’s because it’s so good, not because he’s trying to make Trevor make it better.

He starts to shake in really no time at all of Trevor working his nice mouthful of cock and just when Trevor is congratulating himself on a job well done, only a reasonable amount of smug, groping his own prick and thinking dreamily of how it’s going to feel to get his, he does get a painful tug on his head, pulling him unceremoniously off.

“Oi,” he complains, ready to get rowdy about it, and then squints up and realises it was Sypha, not Alucard: Alucard’s face is crumpled more in distress than pleasure, and Trevor stays on his knees, trying to decide whether he might have got so into it he’d used a bit too much teeth or not, until she gives him a sharp look.

“There, it’s all right,” she’s saying in a lilting voice when Trevor shuffles to them, still on his knees, and he recognises the tone just as he’s got to decide whether to get between Alucard’s spread legs and give it another go. It’s the way she speaks to him when he wakes in the night, old aches and new injuries and bad dreams, and he doesn’t try to go for Alucard’s cock again. He puts his hands on Alucard instead, slides his palms up Alucard’s thighs and rests his forehead on the tender inside of Alucard’s knee.

He feels fingers in his hair, tentative, definitely not Sypha: combing through the strands in a careful way that suggests the fingers are used to coming into contact with nice stuff, expensive, silks and velvets and jewels. Trevor’s hair is a bit greasy at the best of times, what with living in a wagon and washing it in Sypha’s second-hand bathwater when they’re feeling fancy, and sweat-dampened now already from the really very sexy snogging, so he could have told Alucard that it wasn’t a very good idea to be shoving his oh so refined fingertips through it. 

It doesn’t seem to dissuade Alucard, though, because he keeps doing it, steadier and more confident, like maybe he likes the feel of Trevor’s head (unlikely, since as far as Trevor knows his scalp is ordinarily bumpy, at best) or at least likes the way the touch makes Trevor feel more confident in biting at his thighs through the loose cotton of his trousers. He doesn’t quite know where to go from there, though, and then there’s fingers at his mouth, familiar: slender, and tasting of earthed magic, Sypha’s taste - and _Sypha’s taste_ , he realises with rising indignation, the musky-sweet of when he puts his mouth between her legs, and he lifts his head and squints his eyes and says with shock and jealousy and not a little bit of sheer dry-mouth lust, “Well, I _like that_.”

Alucard at least has the decency to look a bit apologetic, even with his hands on Sypha’s waist and helping her get settled over his hips - her bare waist, pants and knickers cast to the floor, and his bare cock, still wet with Trevor’s mouth and about to get wetter where she’s glistening, she’s so ready. Part of Trevor’s mind is totting up the foreplay she’s had now compared to how they fuck usually, suspicious.

“Come on, then,” Sypha says, and it’s with that exultation in her voice she gets when she’s the one with the plan and he’s the sad bastard who’s going to go along with whatever she wants: he gets half a hard-on now whenever she says _Belnades and Belmont!_ with that luxurious sibilance. She pinches his nose, which hurts a bit actually, and tugs him to scramble up onto the couch with them.

He looks at Alucard, and Alucard looks at him. Trevor knows, he just bloody _knows_ that both of them are very, very conscious that Trevor’s lover is about to enthusiastically sink herself down onto Alucard’s cock, and that both of them are exquisitely, horribly conscious of exactly who’s got the edge in length and girth and hardness. Regardless of that Trevor would really quite like to have a good wank at the sight of Sypha and Alucard shagging away like champions, but he feels like he should’ve asked Sypha beforehand for the rules.

“You can,” Alucard says, and it’s smoky and low and rich, like the sweet liquors some villages still make, the ones that kept enough of their elders alive to remember how. “Go on, Belmont. You can, I know you want to, you -” and Trevor is considering getting high-and-mighty about that but then Sypha rolls her eyes and sits down on Alucard’s cock - and just as unceremoniously as she does that she gets a hand on both of their heads and squashes them together like a mutinous child making her dollies kiss.

It seems rude not to go with it. So then Trevor is swallowing down the noises Alucard makes while he fucks up into Sypha’s perfect tight cunt for the first time, and hearing the noises Sypha makes while she fucks down onto Alucard’s nice big cock for the first time, and he’s not exactly involved but by God, he’s with them. He’s a part of this, it’s all of them, the three of them together, like it’s supposed to be, and he’s a damn expert by now at how Alucard likes to be kissed so he nibbles at the tip of Alucard’s tongue and then presses his own tongue into Alucard’s mouth again, familiar, feeling Alucard’s palm on the thundering pulse in his throat with no fear even as he gets his arm around Sypha’s waist and helps support her weight as she starts to bounce on Alucard’s cock.

It’s good. It’s really fucking good having Sypha work away at her pleasure on your cock, Trevor knows better than anyone, so he can be magnanimous: Alucard goes limp under him and falls away, arching against the back of the couch, his pretty mouth shaping something that looks very much like _oh dear God_ , and Trevor nudges Sypha forward so she leans into Alucard, hips still bumping and grinding, so then the two of them kiss again. And while they’re busy Trevor can finally get a hand on himself without any kind of commentary, or being handed more pressing tasks, and that’s really fucking good as well, his other hand still on the warm skin of Sypha’s hip and feeling her move and Alucard’s hand still around the back of his neck, a safe closed loop, both of them cracking an eye open to look at him, making sure he’s there while they kiss and fuck each other.

Alucard’s noises get desperate pretty quickly, which Trevor decides he can also be magnanimous about. He can’t decide whether he thinks it would make it better or worse for the last lot to have made Alucard come before the tried to fucking murder him, and before that Trevor knows very well that Alucard was brooding in a selection of libraries, wagons, and cowsheds, and before _that_ he’d been asleep in a coffin, which isn’t a noted venue for romance even before Trevor factors in the boobytraps in his Gresit hideout. And before that… well, who knows? Long enough ago not to be competition, anyway, and to make it understandable that Alucard might be on just a little bit of a hair trigger, and Trevor shifts in a bit closer and squirms a hand in between them and finds Sypha’s clit, the muscles of Alucard’s stomach rippling against his knuckles as he tries to grind up. Lucky she doesn’t need anything particularly tricky, just a firm rhythmic rub, and there’s room for him to provide that constant pressure even as she rises and falls on Alucard’s cock. 

She moans when he gets properly to work, long and luxurious, letting her head fall back, and he leans in to kiss the hammering pulse in her neck. Alucard’s there as well, nothing dodgy, fangs properly covered as he presses his lips to her skin; just the reaction any man might have to a lover’s bared throat, and Trevor turns enough to take his mouth again. 

It’s overwhelming enough for him to ignore his aching cock for a moment, slide his fingers onto her from the back, as well, dipping modestly between her arse down to where she’s stretched open around Alucard’s cock. Alucard shudders when Trevor strokes him, just a bit, his fingertips on the sensitive underside of Alucard’s cock while Sypha pauses at the top, just the head of his cock inside her, giving Trevor some room. That’s not really what he’s aiming for, though and she sinks down again smoothly as Trevor feels his way downwards, grips Alucard’s balls and feels them tighten on his palm, ready to come. The angle’s awkward, Sypha’s weight pressing them down, but he can get that last bit he’s aiming for, his middle finger pushing under Alucard’s balls too little to do anything but enough to be meaningful.

“Next time you fuck her, I’ll be fucking you,” he says, still half-muffled in a kiss, but meaning it, thinking of that, and the time after that, and the time after that: evenings and nights and mornings they can spend all making love together, because why the hell not, and he nips at Alucard’s tongue almost absent-mindedly as Alucard draws back.

“You’re going to - I didn’t think you’d -” Alucard gasps out, bites his lip very obviously on the end of it. Sypha pauses again, then sits down on Alucard’s cock deliberately, possessively.

“We’re here,” Trevor swears, kisses Alucard there, where there’s a little fang dent in his full lower lip, “we’re back,” and - 

“We’re staying,” Sypha says, glinty-eyed even through her pleasure - 

and Alucard comes raggedly, almost silently, with Sypha and Trevor kissing the tear tracks on both cheeks. It’s more catharsis than pleasure, but at least, Trevor thinks, that means he’s got nowhere to go but up where shagging Alucard is concerned, and he rests his head on Alucard’s slumped shoulder and fingers Sypha devotedly until she comes too. It's a subdued orgasm, that nevertheless makes Alucard hiss with how she’s squeezing his tender, softening cock inside her, but well within her category of acceptable.

He feels almost apologetic about coming himself, after that. He really wants to, though, and he hasn’t drunk enough not to be able to, so he wanks off in a businesslike manner, getting his jizz all over that slutty bit of Alucard’s pecs not covered by his loose tunic. It feels good, in the desultory way he’s learned to appreciate with Sypha, where every time doesn’t have to be the best time because there’s going to be more: there’s the promise of more, and he kisses them both sloppily and cheerfully, Alucard’s appalled expression and then Sypha’s affectionate one.

“Well,” Alucard says, and drops his head onto the back of the sofa. “My God.”

His tone is more _what was I thinking_ than _mind blown_ , but it’s too late. They’re here, and Alucard _wants_ them here, and the Hold is still there for exploring, and somewhere this awful place is going to have a soft clean bed big enough for the three of them; and until then the crackling fire is still throwing heat and light onto them all, wound together on the sofa.

“No gods here,” Trevor says contentedly. “Who wants another drink?”

**Author's Note:**

> First time trephacard! Thanks for reading :D
> 
> I'm talking lockdown nonsense [on twitter](http://www.twitter.com/concernedlily).


End file.
